


Vice

by turbulenthandholding



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Harry Potter, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Implied Sexual Content, POV Pansy Parkinson, Redemption, Swearing, side pairing dramione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-19 17:04:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8218310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turbulenthandholding/pseuds/turbulenthandholding
Summary: Pansy's growing up, taking on new responsibilities and wanting new things, but she has one last vice: her not-friend with benefits. HANSY.





	1. Vice

Pansy Parkinson forced herself to meet her own eyes in the glass above her bathroom sink, a sense of surprise blooming in her gut as her eyes moved from feature to feature across the glass.  She felt messy, unkempt, but didn't look it, thankfully.  The mascara she was sure had flaked below her eyes wasn't there, tight skin clear of darkness felt but not seen.  

It had rained while they were in the pub.  Orange lights glowed up from the puddles on the asphalt as she walked home, and now reflected through her windows, cloaking her flat in eerie light and sleepy shadows.  She was alone, but she hadn't been.

The usual crowd had been there, Blaise and Draco and Theo, and as the night progressed the pub’s walls widened to accommodate the growing party.  As time swept past in a swirl of sparkling drinks and prickly, good natured arguments, Pansy felt tired.   _ He  _ wasn't there, and she hated herself for missing him as she watched his boisterous friends drink and socialize across the room.  

She downed the rest of her drink in a gulp.  Putting the glass down and pushing her stool back from the high top table, Pansy rose to leave with only the slightest wobble of her heels as they hit the sticky floor.  “I'm out,” she said as she grabbed her sequined bag to leave.

Blaise scoffed.  “So early? You get some fancy new job and now you're all old and boring and responsible?  Too good for us now?”

“Are you feeling okay?” Draco cut in.  “Don't listen to him, Pans.  You know we’re all proud of you for taking on your family's seat on the Wizengamot.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, brushing her lips against Draco’s cheek.  “Just tired.  Don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

“Taking off my shirt now, love,” Theo teased.  “Better bring me at least another bottle or two of fizzy wine and find me someone to fight!”

With a final scan of the crowd, Pansy raised her middle fingers in a farewell gesture aimed at Theo, eyes tracing every dark head in the pub for restless, relentlessly mussed hair.  But no unkempt heads materialized, as she knew wouldn't, so she slipped past Granger and Weasley’s latest argument, avoiding Thomas and Finnegan with their tongues down each other’s throats and a stream of people flowing around the bar as she made her way toward the heavy wooden door.  

The several block walk over glowing, rain dampened streets would help clear the obsessive fog in her head, she decided, and opted not to apparate.  Swift steps, brisk from the tension churning in her stomach, led to a hasty walk home.  

She let herself into her darkened flat, dropping her bag on the table by the door, and navigated toward her bedroom by feel.  

The same thought echoed in her head as she unstrapped the cuffs of her silver stilettos from around her ankles:  “This isn't me.”

This isn't me.

_ This isn't me. _

Pulling her black dress over her head and depositing it carelessly on the chair in the corner, she entered her bathroom and lit the lights over the sink, forcing herself to face herself in the mirror.

_ This isn't me. _

A glowing blue light shot out from the wall, and a stag materialized to circle her as she stood and she gasped.  His voice rang out into the silence of the flat, “Malfoy said you left.  I'm coming up.”

Seconds later, her wards tingled and her door swung open.  She stayed at the sink, eyes locked to those reflecting back at her, hands grasping the lip of the porcelain pedestal.  She could hear him bump into the table in her kitchen, scratch his jacketed elbow against the wall of the hall.  Three deep breaths and he was behind her, pea coat coarse on the bare skin of her back and the combination of beard and lips on her neck radiating shivers through her body.

“Hey,” he whispered, hands shifting slowly up her body, from her hips up to the underside of her breasts.

“Hi,” she responded, relief flooding her belly at his touch, contradicting the refrain of  _ this isn't me _ still circling her mind.

He stepped back, grabbing her hand to lead her to her bed, shedding his coat as they went.  He laid down on top of her duvet and gently pulled her down on top of him.  His fingers traced the knobs of her spine, the curve of her ass as he kissed her as deeply as he ever had. 

This was everything, and nothing, and her brain screamed.   _ This isn't me.  This IS me, but this isn't me... _

“I can't do this,” she said, shifting off of him to the other side of the bed.

He blinked at her as the orange light from the window played across his face.  “What’s wrong?  Why?  What did I do?”

The words exploded out of Pansy.  “We’re orbiting, Harry.  We’re orbiting around each other and we just keep passing each other by and this doesn't mean anything, really, so I can't keep just fucking you.”

She slid out of her bed, toes with black nails pacing relentlessly against the cream of the rug on the hardwoods, as everything Pansy didn't want to admit to herself, let alone Harry, rolled off her tongue and exploded like fireworks into the static between them. 

“You with your stupid restless hair and your stupid beautiful green eyes and your stupid ridiculous abdominal muscles and your stupid damn hero complex that has you saving every fucking person except for yourself.  And me, but I don't need you to save me.  As much as I don't want you to, I just want you to give a shit, Harry. I can't do this anymore.  I just can't.”

“Pans…”

“I have a job now, Harry.  A serious fucking job with real fucking responsibility and I've outgrown all of these vices, staying out till all hours and drinking my weight and being a fucking spectacle and fucking you in secret when you’re lonely and hating yourself or I'm lonely and hating myself.  I have a brain and opinions about how this fucking world should work and this is real life, Harry, but Merlin help me because I’d just as soon tell you to fuck off for being so fucking aggravating but fuck if the only fucking thing that's missing from my life now is you, you asshole.”

She gasped in a breath as he watched her in the orange glow of the light from the windows, and the stark light flooding from the bathroom.  “I wish I knew why I miss you like I've a hole in me when I wake up and you're gone.  I don't want to miss you like that.  I don't want to miss anyone like that.  That's not me.  So I think you should leave.  Now.  Just go.”

“Pansy, just give me a damn second…”

“Harry, just leave.  Please,” she insisted as she threw the grey wool of his coat at him, stomping off to open the front door of her flat, sliding herself between the door and the wall.  

“I want to talk about this, Pansy.”

“Just go get shitfaced with Weasley again or whatever you do.  He was fighting with Granger again and has to be ripe for a bitchfest about how women are terrible and your not-friend with benefits let you down.”

“Pansy!” Harry said, grasping the edge of her door.  “Do you know what I fucking told Malfoy tonight at the pub?  I asked him if you’d been there, if you'd left already.  He asked me what I wanted with you, and do you know what I told him?  I told him we’d been seeing each other for a while, privately, and I wanted to see you.  I fucking told him.”

“What?  Why would you do that?” she exclaimed, blinking wildly in the orange light and backing into the wall behind her.

“Because it's the truth, Pansy,” he said, reaching out to run his fingers across her cheekbones, along her jaw.  “I'm tired of making sure I leave before you wake up.  I'm tired of pretending that all there is between us is animosity and barbs and being assholes and fucking when we feel like it.  This isn't just you.”

Gradually Pansy let him press the door out of her hand to close it.  She stayed rooted in the spot, pressing her naked back against the wall, the corner of a frame digging into her shoulder.  Harry dropped his coat at his feet. 

“It's been three years, Pansy.  Three years is a long time to pretend we aren't feeling anything, and I'm tired of it, too,” he said, unable to hold himself back as he crushed her to him.  

“Come on, Pans,” he said into her hair, lifting her off the ground as she fisted her hands into his shirt.  She was unable to keep the corners of her red lips from shifting upward as she rested her head on his shoulder.  “Let’s go back to bed.  We’ll talk.”


	2. Another Vice (Backstory, Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of how Pansy and Harry got came to be in Vice, part one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look for another chapter with the rest of their backstory, and an epilogue!

Pansy stepped out of the pub with an unlit cigarette in her hand.  Her week had been trying, aggravating, unnecessary, even.  She didn’t  _ mean _ to attract so much negative attention, but it really seemed she always did.  Sure, she  _ probably _ could have held her tongue in Madam Malkin’s shop and not gotten into that hair-pulling argument in Diagon Alley with those former Ravenclaws on Tuesday, but she was tired of having to defend herself for something she yelled out of fear and stress during the chaos of the moments before the final battle.  

 

She also could have stood to avoid drinking so much at the gala on Thursday, so Draco wouldn’t have needed to drag her arse home, in front of Witch Weekly’s society cameras.  And now, on Friday, she was relatively sure she didn't  _ need _ to start on the second bottle of Firewhiskey waiting for her back at Theo’s table, but she was also relatively sure nothing was going to stop her.

 

It was a cool night, but Pansy’s buzz kept her from thinking too much about the wind brushing the skin between the tops of her boots and the bottom of her dress.  She put the cigarette to her lips, lit it, and inhaled as she leaned back against the brick wall of the pub.  

 

“Aaaahhh, Pansy Parkinson.  Witch Weekly’s number one post-war trainwreck.  Out celebrating your cover?  You must be quite proud.”  Harry Potter had joined her against the pub wall.  She wasn’t sure where he’d come from.  

 

“You’re just jealous you only made number three.  And I quote, ‘Yes, he’s the savior of the wizarding world, but he’s certainly the saddest sad-sack we’ve seen in decades, rotting away in Grimmauld Place.’”  She exhaled smoke in his direction.  “At least I looked hot on the cover.”

 

“Because that’s what matters, hotness,” he said.  “And I didn’t know you gave a shit about me, Pansy.  Look at you memorizing my article.”  He took the cigarette out of her hand and inhaled.  She couldn’t help but notice her red lipstick on the butt as it touched his lips.

 

She turned toward him, shoulder against the brick.  “I don’t.  Just keeping my eye on the competition.  Wouldn’t want to be overtaken by an arsehole with stupid hair and a beard,” she said, before taking back her cigarette.

 

Harry stepped closer.  “Speaking of stupid hair,” he said as he twisted the ends of her shoulder length locks around his fingers.

 

“Nothing stupid about my hair,” she retorted.  “This cut cost more than you’ve spent on your hair in your entire life, not that that would be hard.  At least I’m entertaining the public instead of being a sad fucking waste of space.  Where were you last night while I was literally swinging on a chandelier at the ministry ball?  Pouting about dead people at your mausoleum?  Watching Granger and Weasley argue?  Crying?”

 

“You’re a fucking bitch, Parkinson,” Harry said, flicking the cigarette from her fingers and throwing it into the street behind him.  He stepped closer still, chancing placing his hands at her waist.  “Up for making another bad decision?” he whispered in her ear.  Time stilled while dark eyes sized up green.

 

“Always,” she told him, and pressed her lips to his.  Hate and anger and passion and understanding passed between them as they kissed.  Pansy ignored the voice inside telling her to go back into the pub, to drink Theo’s firewhiskey and leave well enough alone.  She didn’t know what she was getting into.  Just another vice, a louder voice thought.

 

“My place is close.  Wanna go?” she asked, hands on Harry’s arse.

 

“Fuck yes,” he replied, his hands mirroring hers.  “If only Witch Weekly could see us now, the list would be ours for sure.”

 

“I really fucking hope they can’t,” Pansy said, as she pulled him down the sidewalk towards her flat.

 

*****

Pansy apparated home to find Harry sitting on the stoop of her building.

 

“What are you doing here?” she asked him.  “Bringing down my neighborhood with your sad cloud?”

 

“Where have you been?” he demanded as he stood up.  “I’ve been waiting here for you for hours!”

 

“Well, that was a fucking waste of your time,” she told him, using her wand to unlock the building’s door.  “Get inside, before someone else sees or hears you,” she said, exasperated.  Harry followed her docilely up the stairs, his intensity vibrating around him.

 

Once they were in her flat, Harry began to pace through her living room.  Pansy sighed, and removed her coat, hanging it from the coat rack next to the door.

 

“Where were you?” Harry demanded again as he paced.

 

“Now I’m getting some fucking wine so I can fucking get through a fucking conversation with you without avada-ing your arse,” she said, heading into her kitchen to grab the open bottle of elf-made wine in her cooling cabinet.

 

“I don’t like your fucking tone, Parkinson,” Harry called from the living room.

 

“I don’t fucking like yours, either, Potter.  And for your fucking information I was in Muggle fucking London for fashion week,” and she downed her glass in a swift swig.  She refilled her glass, and poured one for Harry, and carried them both back to her living room.

 

She thrust the wine glass into Harry’s hand.  “Drink this before you say another word.”

 

He eyed the glass, and then her, before taking it and sipping slightly.  “You’re not trying to poison me, are you?”

 

“Oh my fucking Merlin, I cannot believe you!”  Pansy yelled.  “Drink the fucking wine and then tell me what has your knickers in such a wad so you can get out of here.”  She collapsed onto her sofa, covering her eyes with the back of her hand.  “What. Do. You. Want.”

 

Harry paused his pacing in front of her.  “Did I knock you up?”

 

“Excuse me?” Pansy screamed, jumping off the couch.  “What do you take me for, some brainless slag?  Trying to trap you by making the next Potter heir?  Are you kidding me?  I have money!  I have more money than I fucking know what to do with, thanks to my fucking father, and his fucking father and his fucking father, which is why I’m going to be taking home about half of Alexander McQueen’s new collection when it’s available for sale, for fuck’s sake.”  She punctuated her points by jabbing a scarlet nail into Harry’s chest.

 

“I don’t fucking need you!  I fucked you and I am on the fucking potion because I am not an idiot, unlike you, you arse.  I cannot believe you.  I cannot believe I was stupid enough to fuck you!”  Pansy took up pacing as Harry collapsed onto her sofa.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “I’m really fucking sorry.  I don’t usually do stuff like that and I panicked.  I’m sorry.”  He covered his face with one of Pansy’s decorative pillows.  “Ugh...I really am a fucking sad sack.”

 

“Just...do something.  Get a fucking job.  Start a fucking charity.  Do anything and I’m sure you’ll turn your life right around.  You’re the golden boy,” she said, joining him on the couch.  “Anyone would be happy to hand you whatever you wanted,” she said into her wine glass.  “You’re not the one with a black mark.”

 

He shifted toward her and took the wine glass from her hand and set it on the table.  “I don’t see a fucking dark mark on your arm.  You didn’t do anything, Pansy.  You were scared and you said what made sense to you in that moment.  I get it.  I don’t hold it against you.”

 

“Yeah, well, tell that to the rest of this miserable world,” she said, as Harry reached out to touch her hand resting against the cushions.  “Don’t pity me.”

 

He threaded his fingers through hers.  “I’m not, I promise.”

 

Pansy nodded, “I am sorry, Harry.”

 

“I know,” he said softly, shifting to rest against the back of the sofa.  “This really took a turn.”

 

“That’s what you get with us, the fucking number one and number three trainwrecks of the post-war wizarding world,” she said while untangling her fingers from Harry’s.  “I think you should go,” she told him, rising to walk toward the door.

 

“Okay,” Harry said, hesitantly following Pansy.  He reached out his hand towards her.  “Friends?” he asked.

 

“Well,” she considered.  “I’m not sure about that.  But if you get lonely sometime, you know where to find me.”

 

“Yeah?” he asked, his eyes tracing her face.

 

“Yeah.  See you around, Potter,” she said as he walked out her door.  She pressed it closed before resting her forehead on the panel.  “Fuck,” she said to no one.  “Fuck.  Just fuck.  More wine,” and she went to grab the next bottle from her kitchen.

 

*****

 

Pansy and Daphne walked hurriedly through Diagon Alley on their way to meet Theo and Draco for tea.  Pansy lost herself in Daphne’s hushed description of the romantic dinner she and Theo had had the night before, watching Daphne’s smile grow even prettier with the blush of new love.  

 

They turned the corner in front of the ice cream parlor that had recently opened in Fortescue’s old shop and Pansy swore as she crashed into a hard body exiting the shop with a bag in hand.

 

“Watch where you are fucking going,” she spat.  Stepping back, she noticed.  “Oh, it’s you.  Potter.”

 

“Parkinson,” Harry replied.  “How are things?”

 

“Fine.  How are you?” she asked, trying to bluster through the awkwardness she desperately hoped Daphne didn’t notice.  

 

“Taking ice cream to my godson.  I start Auror training soon,” he added.  

 

“Good for you,” Pansy replied, hoping her reply was vague enough to escape Daphne’s suspicion.  “We’re late, aren’t we, Daphne?” 

 

“Hi, Harry,” Daphne interjected.  “Nice to see you again.  We really are in a rush, though!” she said, as she pulled Pansy down the sidewalk.  Harry gave a little wave as they walked away.

 

Daphne grasped Pansy’s arm, drawing her closer to deliver an exaggerated whisper.  “What the hell was that, Pansy?” she asked as they rushed toward the tea room.

 

“Absolutely nothing, Daph.  He bummed a smoke at the pub a while back and talked at me for a while, you know how he is.  Ugh, I’m so glad I brought my flask,” Pansy deflected, patting the bag hanging artfully from her wrist.  “Think Draco will notice if I spike his tea, too?”

 

Daphne giggled, but continued watching her friend rush toward their destination with a wary eye.

 

*****

Quidditch season had begun and the pub was crowded, full of fans who had been to the first match.  Pansy didn’t care so much about quidditch, but she did care about having a good, drunken time, and had met up with her friends after the game.  Blaise and Draco had bet on the outcome of the match and Blaise seemed as surprised as any of them that the Chudley Cannons had actually won a match.  Draco was paying the price.  

 

“More flaming firewhiskey shots!” Pansy yelled at the bartender.  “We’ll take a whole fucking tray of them,” she said, casually flashing her cleavage toward him as she pushed the pile of galleons across the bar. While she waited for the drinks, she scanned the pub and saw Ron Weasley shit-faced and boisterously joyful, standing on a table.  Granger looked bleary-eyed and adoring as she watched him, clapping, as Pansy caught Harry’s eye.

 

He raised an eyebrow at her and Pansy winked saucily back at him.  The bartender pushed the tray of shots across the bar toward her, and she carried the tray back to their table.  “Drink up, Draco!” she called as he moaned at her.  “Don’t worry, I’ll help,” and quickly downed three shots in rapid succession.

 

“Go Pansy!” Blaise yelled.  “Draco, you could learn from her!” he shouted.  Pansy stepped away from the table again.  “Washroom,” she said, and started making her way towards the back of the pub.  Nearing Harry, she motioned subtly with her head for him to follow her, avoiding any interactions with both Granger and Weasley.  She heard him make excuses to his friends, louder than she really thought was necessary, but then again Weasley was dense and more than a little drunk.  She waited for him.

 

She pulled him out of the employee entrance at the back of the pub by his hand, to the alley behind and into the shadows a building over.  She pressed Harry’s back to the brick and brought her hands to his neck to pull his lips toward hers.  She tasted of fire and he tasted of ale and she thought the combination shouldn’t work, but it almost did.

 

They were both quiet as she dropped to her knees in front of him, and she worked to release him from his jeans.  When she did, she paused and looked up at him with hooded, sparkling eyes.  He smirked down at her, before pressing his head back into the wall as her lips met his cock.  She felt his quiet moan in her belly, wasting no time taking him in further.  She liked this.  Harry was so receptive and more responsive than she had expected.

 

_ Fun _ , she thought, as his hands wound into her hair.   _ Fun _ , as he finished.  And  _ fun, _ as she stood up and kissed him, and felt his fingers drifting inside the waist of her leather trousers.  

 

_ Huh, the sad sack is fun _ , she thought as the edges blurred.   _ I was not expecting that. _

 

*****

 

Pansy’s fist hit the black door of Grimmauld Place.  She thrust out her hip and her bottom lip in the most overly seductive look she could manage before the door swung open in front of her.  

 

“I still don’t understand why you couldn’t just come home with me from the pub,” Harry said, shifting to let her pass through the door.

 

“Oh, you’ll see,” she told him.  “It will be worth your wait.”  She started up the staircase toward the bedroom she’d been in twice before, swinging her hips the whole way.

 

Harry followed a few steps behind her, appreciating the view as they climbed.  “You could take your coat off, you know,” he told her.

 

“Nope,” she said, with a seductive look over her shoulder.  “Not yet.”  And she let herself into his bedroom.  “Sit,” she told him when he entered, gesturing toward the edge of his bed.  When he did, she stepped between his legs and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

 

“So, I found out muggle aurors have this thing they use when they are trying to keep baddies from escaping.  I was thinking, that since you're a real auror now, we could play a bit,” she said, running her hands over every part of Harry she could reach.

 

“What are you…” Harry asked as Pansy reached into the pocket of her trench to pull out a pair of gold handcuffs, dangling them in front of him.

 

“Auror Potter, I think you should teach me a lesson about what happens when you're bad...naughty, even,” she told him, dropping the cuffs into his hand before slipping the black coat from her shoulders.

 

Naked apart from sheer black stockings covering her legs up to her thighs, ridiculous heels, and strings of sparkling jewelry adorning her body, she climbed up onto his bed and grasped the ornate twisted black iron of the headboard.

 

“Pansy, I don't…” he started, uncertainly.

 

“It's just fun, Harry,” she said, sitting up to pull the cuffs from his fingers.  She clasped one around her wrist and the other to the bed, lying back to watch his reaction.  “Your move, Auror Potter,” she told him, moving her free hand down her body.  Slowly, she watched him decide and he moved over her on the bed, stilling her free hand with his.

 

“What do you think you're doing, miss?  That's awfully bad of you,” he said, starting to play along.  “I just might need to teach you a lesson.”

 

_ ***** _

Pansy stood on the sticky top of the wooden bar in her bare feet, her shoes dropped and forgotten on the floor below.  She held a bottle of champagne in her left hand, her second or maybe third of the night, and cupped her right around her mouth to amplify her raucous yelling.  She wasn’t sure why climbing up on the bar had seemed like a good idea, but she’d gone with it.  

 

The music echoing around the bar was awful, some amatuer local band.  It sounded better higher up, Pansy thought, or maybe it was the champagne or the altitude.  The bubbles made her dance and she shimmied her away across the wood.  She started to lose herself in the terrible music, forgetting she had an audience.  One last hearty swig and the bottle was empty, so she set it by her feet and danced unencumbered.  

 

Someone yelled, “Take it off!” from the back of the pub and Pansy was not one to shy away from a challenge, or a bad suggestion.  She pulled up the hem of her lacy top and tossed it down.  The change in temperature as well as the attention pebbled her nipples as she danced.

 

“Okay, that’s enough now,” the bartender told her.  He held out a hand to help her down.

 

“Danny!” Pansy whined, “I’m not ready yet!” and she shimmied away from him rocking her hips to the beat.

 

“Don’t make me call the MLE, Pansy,” he said, more sternly.  

 

“I’m an Auror,” a voice rang out, and Harry appeared at the bar.  “I’ll take her home, Danny,” he said.

 

“Oh, thanks Mr. Potter.  If it’s not too much trouble.  I don’t really want to have the MLE in here again tonight,” Danny said, holding his hand out for Harry to shake.

 

“No trouble at all, unlike you,” Harry aimed at Pansy.  “You’re nothing but,” and he gestured for her to climb on his back.  The bartender handed Harry her shoes and shirt, and he took them with one hand before bringing his hands around his back to support her.  “Thanks again, Danny,” and he carried a topless Pansy, tits pressed into his back, out of the bar.

 

“Interesting night,” he began as he piggybacked her toward her flat.  “I won’t tell you that you didn’t look amazing up there, but you should probably try to keep your clothes on in public from now on,” Harry told her.  “I mean, I know it’s kind of your thing.”

 

“Hey!” Pansy yelled.  “You just said you enjoyed it, you arse.  And what, are you following me now?”

 

“Nope.  It was Johnson’s birthday, so we went out for drinks after training,” Harry told her.  “You just didn’t see me there.”

 

“Easy without that glaring ginger head hanging around you, I suppose,” she sighed.  “I guess I should thank you for rescuing me before I did something completely ridiculous.”  She thought for a second.  “Maybe in the morning.”

 

“Ha,” Harry laughed, as they approached her flat.

 

“You have to carry me up, you know,” she said, and he could hear the innuendo in her voice.  “Maybe I’ll figure out how to say thank you between here and there.”

 

“Maybe you will,” he replied, shifting on the front step so Pansy could use her wand to unlock her building’s door.  “We’ll just have to find out, now won’t we.” 

 

*****

Daphne, Millie, and Tracey had ensured Pansy had not met her birthday sober.  Drink after drink had blurred the night and made straight lines and verticalness complicated feats.  Discarded rose gold heels swung loosely from the fingers of Pansy’s left hand as Daphne grasped her right, attempting to lead Pansy up to her flat through fits of giggles and spinning and uncharacteristic levity.

 

“Up you get,” Daphne directed as Pansy fumbled up the stairs.  “Next time, I'm flooing you home.”

 

“Flooooooo,” Pansy exaggerated, leading to yet more giggles.  “Flooooooo is such a funny word, don't you think so, Daph?”

 

“I'm starting to wonder if someone spiked your drinks.  What's gotten into you?”  Daphne asked as she navigated Pansy down the hallway to her door.

 

“Blaisey and Theo and silly Millie hit me with cheering charms as a birthday present as we were leaving!  Aren't they just the sweetest arseholes?”

 

“They are something,” Daphne replied as the wards gave way to let them enter.  “Are you going to be okay?  Cheering charms on top of all of the drinking…”

 

“My sweet, beautiful mother friend, I will be FINE.  This room is so beautiful when it spins like this.  I have amazing taste,” Pansy said as she twirled around her living room.

 

“Uh huh.  Do you need me to stay?  I feel like I should stay…” Daphne said, skeptically watching Pansy narrowly miss bumping into her couch as she spun.

 

“Put some sober-up by my bed and go fuck your boyfriend for me, you beautiful witch.  I'll be fine here spinning,” Pansy insisted.  “Unless you want me to join you and Theo…”

 

“No, not tonight, love, or probably ever. If you’re sure you don't need me…just get some sleep.  Owl me in the morning so I know you're okay.”  Daphne grasped Pansy in a strong hug.  “Happy birthday, Pans!  Sweet dreams.”

 

Daphne let her go and disapparated, leaving her in the middle of her living room alone.  Pansy shrugged, and started skipping toward the kitchen to find tea, or more alcohol, or both, enjoying the tipsy and completely out of the ordinary cheerful feeling coursing through her.  

 

She grasped the handle of the black kettle and turned to fill it in the sink, when a gasp escaped her lips.  The kettle loosened in her fingers and crashed to the floor, spilling the bit of water that had been inside.  A corporeal patronus, in stag form, galloped out of her wall and through her kitchen.  Agog at the sight of a patronus up close, Pansy reached out her hand toward the shape, pulling back as if it burned as soon as a voice spoke.

 

“It's me, it's Harry.  I'm outside your flat and I have something to give you.  Can I come up?”

 

Pansy followed the stag to her balcony, where she thrust open the doors and looked down.  “HAAAAAARRRRRRRRRYYYYYYY!” she yelled.  “Come up, come up!  It's open!” and then rushed to open the door to her flat.

 

As soon as Harry appeared, she grasped his hand and pulled him inside, kicking the door shut with her bare foot.  Wrestling him to the floor, Pansy pounced and kissed and groped as Harry struggled to keep up with her.

 

They both panted as he pulled his lips away from hers.  His thumb traveled the bridge of her nose, over lips and down her neck.  “Happy birthday, Pansy,” he whispered.

 

“You pretty, pretty man.  How did you know?” she asked, fingers deceptively nimble as they worked on the button of his jeans.

 

“Pretty?” he asked as his hands stilled hers on his zipper.

 

“Hmmm, pretty.  With nice muscles.  And hair that doesn’t make sense,” she giggled.

 

“Always cracks about my hair.  Hands off, Pans.  Tonight is about you,” he said as he rolled her onto her back, surrounded by her laughter.  “Why so ticklish?” he asked.  “You’re never this giggly.  Or cheerful.  That smile might break your face.”

 

“I was attacked tonight.  Attacked by arseholes with cheering charms!  Can you arrest them?” she gasped, as lips followed hands under her dress.  

 

Harry pulled up and pressed her hands on the rug on either side of her head.  “Stop giggling or do I need to tie you down again?”

 

“Mmmmm,” she moaned, as his lips grazed her throat.  “M’not so ticklish now.  Try me.”

 

Harry traced his fingers down her torso until they came to the tasseled tie keeping her dress together and he teased her by making slow work of untying the knot and parting her dress, the rose gold of the sequins dancing in the lights of her flat.  

 

“You never wear knickers,” he said while moving down her body until lips and tongue met her core and Pansy’s lingering giggles turned into moans.  Pausing to nip the inside of her thigh with his teeth, “and I love being the reason you're not quiet,” he said and found her again with his tongue.

 

Pansy gasped.  “You're always a reason I'm not quiet.  You're fucking infuriating but good with your tongue,” and she giggled again before grabbing Harry’s hair and losing conscious thought.

 

When he'd brought her over twice, he came up and kissed her, the taste of her on their lips.  “Happy birthday, Pans,” he said, as he broke the kiss.  He rolled back on his heels and stood up.  “I guess I'll…”

 

“Take me to bed, you arsehole.  It's still my birthday and I'm not done with you yet,” she said up at him from the floor.

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry replied while pulling her up to her feet and hoisting her over his shoulder.  “Seems like those cheering charms finally wore off.”

  
“Thank fucking Merlin,” Pansy said as he tossed her on her bed.  “It's about fucking time.”


	3. Another Vice (Backstory Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of how Pansy and Harry got came to be in Vice, part two, which takes us up to the original one shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only the epilogue left!

* * *

 

“You should add me to your wards,” Harry exhaled as he lay panting next to Pansy on her bed, backs flat and touching arm to arm.

 

“Why the fuck would I do that?” Pansy said as she looked over at him with a raised eyebrow.

 

“So I don't have to wait on your steps in the rain next time, like some poor lost puppy,” Harry replied innocently.

 

“It's not like the rain messed up your fur at all,” she told him, threading her fingers into his locks.

 

“Hey!” he said, twisting carefully on his side to face her.

 

“Besides, who says I want you waiting for me, anyway?  And,” she cut off, pulling his head toward hers to kiss him, tongue swirling around his.  “Next time might be sooner than you think,” she said as she broke away to rise up and straddle his thighs.

 

* * *

 

The crowd crushed forward toward the stage and Pansy was swept up in the wave of movement, separating her from her friends.  Purple and gold lights flashed around the room, slashing across faces and arms and backs as the sounds of the magically amplified Weird Sisters jettisoned around the large room.  It had been a while since Pansy had been at a concert and she was ecstatically absorbing the energy, moving her body in time to the beat, loving losing herself in the heat of the bodies pressing together.   

 

The stage lights darkened for a few brief moments as the song ended and Pansy felt someone grab ahold of her arm to lead her away from the front of the stage.  Callused fingertips dug into her arm and the familiar spicy and sweet smell of their owner calmed the spike of anger she felt at being moved.  In its place remained a curious mix of annoyance and desire.

 

Harry led her to the shadows in the back corner of the venue.  As he pressed his body against hers into the wall, she could hear him casting a notice-me-not charm and Muffliato before moving his lips to her neck.

 

“You look amazing out there,” he said into her ear, tongue tracing the shell before teasing the lobe until Pansy moaned breathily in response.

 

Her hands were under the seam of his t-shirt, scratching scarlet nails over the back made muscular by countless hours of dueling, until she threaded her fingers through the loops of his muggle jeans to grind his hips into hers.

 

“I didn't even see you,” she told him, losing herself in the sensation of hands creeping under the hem of her skirt, up the sides of her thighs and around to cup her bare arse under the leather.

 

“Here or somewhere else?” he exhaled before claiming her lips with his.  

 

Their kiss took on a life of its own, clashing tongues and wandering hands and the grind of crotch against straddled thigh.  

 

Pansy broke away, looking up into Harry’s eyes.  “Your place is closer,” punctuating her words by running her tongue across his bottom lip.  “And I really need to fuck you.  Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

“So who’s your date?” Harry asked, emerging from the shadowed entrance to the balcony at Malfoy Manor where Pansy stood alone in the moonlight.  The bright moon over the gardens below provided a quiet vista, contrasting to the bright colors and loud sounds of the charity ball inside.

 

“Why do you care?” Pansy asked without turning to face him.  

 

“I don't,” Harry replied.  “Didn't recognize him, is all,” he said out to the lawn, each of them avoiding the other’s gaze.

 

“Right,” she said, pulling the cigarette she held loosely up to her lips, her exhale propelling the smoke out into the moonlight.  “Ginevra looks lovely tonight, if you don't mind how her hair clashes with everything.  I'm sure you're enjoying yourself.”

 

A breeze ruffled the flowing sheer layers of the train of Pansy’s gown around her stilettos, catching Harry’s attention and he shifted to lean his back against the stone rail of the balcony.  “You know she’s engaged to Oliver now. I'm only escorting her while he's training the Spanish national team in Barcelona for the month.”

 

“Uh-huh.  You tell that to her tits?”  Pansy took another drag.

 

 _This isn't me_ , she thought.

 

A smirk bloomed across Harry’s lips.  Reaching over, he plucked the cigarette from her fingers and took a deep drag of his own before dropping the butt on the marble and crushing it with the ball of his foot.  His eyes met Pansy’s for the first time that evening and he stepped closer and closer until he had fully invaded her space.

 

He raised his hands and ghosted his fingertips through the soft waves of black hair longer than he remembered it being, down over her bare shoulders and along the deep plunge of the front of her dress.

 

“Hmmm,” Harry hummed in her ear as his thumbs drifted over the exposed sides of her breasts.  “Better be careful, love, or I’ll start to think you're jealous.”

 

“Fuck off, Harry,” she shot out.

 

“Fuck off or fuck you?” Harry said as his lips followed the trails blazed by his fingertips.

 

“Marco will be looking for me, you arse,” she said, but the vitriol of her statement was lost in the way her neck fell open to his lips.

 

“Marco, is it?” Harry asked, teeth joining lips in staining her neck with his attention.

 

Pansy sighed as her fingers reached into the front of Harry’s dress robes, tracing his cock through the fabric of his trousers, as his lips and fingers continued to tease her chest.

“He’s just some creep from the continent my mother set me up with, in hopes of marrying me off,” she admitted, unhooking his belt and unfastening his trousers, releasing his pulsing cock into the night air.  She stepped back from Harry and turned to grip the balcony rail, first sweeping the skirt of her dress apart at one of the high slits, revealing her arse to him.  Heels positioning her at just the right height for him to enter her at a perfect angle, she gasped and pushed back into him as he did.  Hands dug into her hips as his pistoned at a delicious pace.  

 

“And you,” she gasped, “you're just the guy I fuck.”

 

* * *

 

She wrote and rewrote the note five times before attaching it to McQueen’s leg and sending him on his way.  Maybe someday she would regret getting such an unusual looking owl, all reds and browns and golds, but she really hadn't been able to help herself.  She watched the handsome creature disappear into the dark of the night sky.

 

She decided to distract herself from waiting for a reply by going through her closet.  She pulled dresses and blouses and skirts and robes from hangers and inspected them with a critical eye, tossing those that no longer suited in a pile on her floor.  It felt a little like shedding old skin.

 

She returned a black dress she’d never worn to her closet as she heard a tapping on her bedroom window.  She opened it to let in McQueen, nuzzling him as she removed the note from his leg.  

 

 _And I’ll scratch it.  Come over_ , the scrawl said.  

 

Leaving the discarded clothes scattered on the floor of her room, Pansy stopped by her bathroom.  She glanced at the blush of her oversized sweater, falling artfully off of her shoulder, and ran her fingers through her hair, but did not meet her eyes in the glass.  She didn’t want to see what was in the eyes of the woman who would be gazing back at her.  

 

She pulled on her boots, adjusted her thigh-high knit socks and thought of the top of the stairs outside of Grimmauld Place to apparate.

 

Pansy wasn’t sure if it was the rush of apparating or the anticipation of what she hoped was coming, but her stomach thrummed as she stood at the edge of the orange glow of the street lamps, waiting for her knock to be answered.  Impatient, she reached up to knock again but her fist missed the door as it opened.

 

“Hey,” Harry said, pulling the door open further to grant Pansy entry.  “Cute,” he smirked as his eyes followed her exposed shoulder to the hem of her sweater grazing the bare skin of her thighs above her socks.  He grabbed her hand leading her down the dark hallway.  “I've got a fire in the drawing room.”

 

“Decided to finally burn the old dump down?” she joked.  The shadows overtook the muscles of his bare back as she followed him, muggle jeans worn in places and hanging low from his hips.  She noticed his feet were bare and she liked it.

 

Harry ignored her and she followed him into the drawing room, which was dark except for the flickering light of the fire at the other end of the room.  An empty snifter and a thin book sat on a tray on the floor near the hearth, and a thick blanket covered the antique rug.  “Having a romantic evening to yourself?” Pansy asked him.   

 

“Just reading,” he told her, and pulled her down on the blanket beside him.  “Turns out I like to when I don’t have to do it for school.  The night is getting more interesting as it goes on, though.”  He unzipped her boots and pulled them off, setting them beside the blanket, before toying with the hem of her sweater.  “So you have an itch?” he asked, his voice husky and breathy by her ear.

 

Her, “yes” came out in a near-pant.  She would have been barely able to stand the way she sounded had she been listening, thinking, but she wasn’t listening or thinking.  The roar of her heart over the fire drowned out everything except for the man in front of her and she decided to drown in him for the moment, at least.  His fingers found her, wet and ready for him already, and he teased her, drawing gasps and delighted moans.  

 

“Why are you so fucking good at this?” she whimpered.  He pulled the sweater over her head, leaving her in her thigh high socks, before moving to pull off his jeans.

 

“I’m glad you think so,” he whispered as he entered her.  “Oh, Merlin, Pansy.”  Lips and fingers flicked at her nipples as she ground her hips into his.

 

“Harder...faster...more, Harry, more,” she begged until he obliged her, over and over until they crested into oblivion.

 

When the sweat cooled their skin, he pulled her in close and threaded his legs through hers.  “Don’t go yet,” he yawned.  “Just a few more minutes,” as his fingers traced a pattern along her hips and back.  

 

 _This isn’t me,_ her brain tried to scream, but she was overcome and quickly fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

Three a.m. and the fire had died in front of them.  Harry’s breathing was even and smooth, and she delicately twisted away.  The moon offered slight light from the windows as she found her sweater and picked up her boots.

 

 _Stay_.

 

 _Fucking go_.

 

_Stay._

 

 _Fucking get out of here as soon as possible_.

 

He hadn’t told her to leave.  But she didn’t know what would happen if she stayed and did not think she was at all ready to find out.  She carried her shoes through the dark hallway, back to the main door, and slipped out as quietly as she could.  Six stairs in the cool night and she was apparating home, without a second look to the window where a bare chested figure looked around the heavy curtains flanking the sides of the window to watch her leave.

 

* * *

 

The tapping on the window of Pansy’s flat distracted her from her study of the History of the Wizengamot.   _Ugh, this must be what it feels like to be Granger,_ she thought to herself.  She placed a scrap of parchment in her place and sighed in the direction of her cooled cup of tea.  Early evening was an odd time to receive an owl, and Pansy frowned as she unlocked her window.  A Ministry owl flew in, holding out its leg impatiently so she could detach the small roll of parchment.  It threw McQueen a look as he sat on his perch, picked up a treat from the bowl on the sill as it departed her window and she was left to read her mail.  

 

The scratchy scrawl indicated the author as much as the vague signature of, ‘ _-H._ ’

 

_There was a raid today.  We lost Johnson.  I need you.  I’ll be by soon._

 

Moments later, Pansy felt Harry enter her wards.  Her door opened and he stood in the entry, dirty and subdued, with a bandage crossing his forehead.  

 

“Harry!  Are you okay?  What happened?” she exclaimed, rushing towards him, adrenaline leaving a pit of dread and worry in her stomach, only slightly tempered by the relief at seeing him basically unharmed.

 

_This isn't me._

 

“Ambush,” he said, crossing the threshold and pushing the door closed behind him.  Pansy met him and began pulling Harry’s tattered auror robes from his shoulders, dropping them behind him on the floor.  He started to tremble.  Pansy gathered him into her arms and held tight as trembles turned to shakes, the uninjured side of Harry’s forehead pressed tightly into the crook of her neck.

 

_Yes._

 

_No, this isn't me._

 

 _Yes,_ the war raged inside of her.

 

“I shouldn't dump this on you,” he said into her throat.  

 

“Don't worry about it.  I was just reading,” she said, as she pulled him into her bedroom and towards the bathroom.

 

“Reading?  Are _you_ feeling okay?” he said as a small smile danced across his lips.  Their eyes met in the vanity mirror as she went about gathering towels from the cupboard.  

 

“I see the head injury has improved your sense of humor as well as your hair,” she mocked.  A flick of her wand and the spray of the shower began, and Pansy made quick work of removing Harry’s other clothes.  “How bad is it?  Can you safely get it wet?” she asked, running her fingers near the bandage on his forehead.

 

“Just a scratch, really.  I got in the way of a stray splicing hex, but it should be mostly healed by now,” he told her.  “You can take it off,” he said, and Pansy carefully pulled away the bandage.

 

“You're right, not too bad,” she told him, inspecting the scratch remaining, “and that's good, because the nest you call hair is absolutely filthy, just perfect for small rodents to call home, I’d think.”

 

“Very funny,” he told her.  “Not even a head injury can keep you from insulting my hair,” he said, stepping into her shower.  She watched through the gradually fogging glass as the water ran in dirty rivulets down his body.

 

“Can you wash my back?” he asked suggestively. “With my injury, I'm worried I'll collapse under the strain.”

 

“Oh, yes, I'm so worried about you falling down in my shower,” she said, but pulled Malfoy’s old quidditch shirt over her head anyway.  

 

Harry brushed away the fog from the glass.  “Knickers?  You actually own knickers?” he said as he eyed her, standing topless in the steamy bathroom, arse covered in lacy black knickers.  “Seriously?  Maybe I really did hurt my head.”

 

“Shut up, you arse.  You don't know everything about me,” she said as she made a show of dragging them down seductively past hips and legs.  “Time to get you clean, if that's even possible, so we can fuck away your awful day.”  And she entered the steamy glass enclosure and got to work.

 

* * *

 

Pansy braced herself on the wall outside the Ministry of Magic.  She folded her arms to distract her hands, which longed to hold a cigarette, to put it to her lips.  
  
She didn't smoke anymore.   
  
She'd come outside for air, a moment of peace.  The ceremony swearing her in as the newest member of the Wizengamot had gone well.  No one had protested, which relieved the uncharacteristic voice in her head that had been quietly nagging her for several days.   
  
Her arms were bare and the early spring day was cool and she drifted further from the side of the building into the sun.  She looked good, she knew, in an Alexander McQueen dress that suited her, a structured dress that twisted a starched business collar and structure with edgy lace and embroidery and fun.   
  
She felt good, too, confident and ready to take on the new challenge of her position.  She'd been reading and studying; opinions formed and positions taken, she was ready.  Pansy anticipated the feeling of proving so many people wrong about what she was accomplishing, of proving herself right.   
  
As she found herself slowly wandering the streets around the Ministry, she thought of the one person who she was starting to believe she didn't need to prove anything to, though that new nagging voice told her that maybe that was wishful thinking.  Harry had come, ostensibly to represent the Auror department at the ceremony, but Pansy wondered if he had really come for her.   
  
He'd grasped her hand in the reception line, as she stood next to the Chief of the Wizengamot, and called her by name, her first name, not her last name, deviating from their normal public custom.  He'd congratulated her, gripped her hand in his, fingers twisting against her palm in a private message undetectable by those around them.  With a quick drop of his head near her ear, had murmured that he was so proud of her.  That she looked so beautiful.  "Time to kick some arse," was his parting statement to her, spoken louder for the benefit of those around them.   
  
Pansy felt she didn't know how to read him anymore.  She knew that she was feeling things, feeling things she wasn't sure she ever wanted to feel.  It was hard enough recognizing those feelings in herself and she had started to worry she was projecting all of her longing for something more than regular fucking and irregular friendship onto Harry, giving her hope.

  
Oh, but the thought of admitting her feelings, the thought of losing him, made Pansy's feet beat down on the pavement faster.  Easier and better to give into her mother's grossly inappropriate matchmaking, she thought, than destroy her heart, though the voice again wondered if the former would get her to the latter anyway.   


_This isn't me._

  
She desperately wanted to smoke.   
  
But she still didn't.   
  
Pansy turned the corner and realized she wasn't far from where she'd started, and went to head back inside the Ministry, to her new office.  She had meetings, and new work to begin, and a heart she felt desperately determined to protect.   


_This_ _just isn't me._

 

* * *

 

Pansy paced outside of Auror Headquarters at the Ministry.  She had spent the better part of the afternoon meeting with the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot in her chambers, and the better part of the evening organizing her new office.  The corridors were dark at the late hour, though lights shown from within the Auror offices, and Pansy warred with herself over entering.  

 

She knew Harry was likely inside, finalizing paperwork or just avoiding the empty, rattling dark expanse of Grimmauld Place.  She wanted to enter, grab his hand, and pull him out for late takeaway eaten in bed.  She longed to wrap herself in him, to release the pressure that had been building in her as she took on these new responsibilities, to do the same for him as he planned mission after mission.

 

Pausing before the door, she held out a hand to grasp the knob, but stopped.  Footsteps echoed from within and she backed away from the door, movements as swift and as nonchalant as she could make them.  The glass handle twisted, followed by the appearance of a redhead in Auror robes.

 

“Oi, Parkinson.  Here to turn yourself in?” Ron asked with a smirk.

 

“Fuck off, Weasel,” Pansy said with a pivot of her smart heels.  “The last one of us to be drunk and disorderly was you.  I saw you out last weekend.  Who knew Granger could screech that piercingly?  Well, apart from you, I suppose.  Or did you?  Oh, Merlin, I bet you didn't.”

 

Ron flushed furiously.  “Fuck off, Pansy.”

 

“The pleasure’s all mine, as always,” she retorted as she walked away.

 

_Maybe tomorrow._

 

_This isn't me._

 

_Maybe tomorrow._


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy gets a letter.

Everyone had been hovering and Pansy was losing her patience. She sent her mother to check the ballroom and had Daphne and her other friends searching for more champagne just to get some peace.

Alone at last, Pansy stood in front of the full-length mirror in her childhood bedroom, hands smoothing the front of the diaphanous gown she wore. Transparent layers fell close to her torso and built to a voluminous yet sleek veil around and behind her legs. Her eyes followed the flowers embroidered on the sides of her dress up towards her face. She met her eyes in the glass and smiled, unafraid of anything reflecting back at her.

A tapping at the window distracted her from her reverie, and she stepped over to investigate. Releasing the latch, McQueen flew into the room, flapping his grandiose wings in a proud display.

"What are you doing here, Queenie?" Pansy asked him affectionately. She released the letter from his leg and caressed him as he preened against her hand. "And what do we have here?"

Her owl flew off to join the other owls at the Parkinson manor, and Pansy broke the wax seal on the letter in her hands, carefully arranging herself on the stool at the vanity to read.

The handwriting gave away the author without her needing to look for the signature. The familiar scratching made her stomach warm.  
_  
My Pansy,_ it began.

_I know we're not really people for bold public, or hell, even private declarations of our feelings. I find that there are things I need to tell you today. For all I know you love muggle clothes, I'm sure you're not one for the muggle custom of writing out your own vows and declaring your innermost thoughts to all of the riff-raff your mother insisted on inviting. I'm quite happy we're opting for the magical bonding way, myself._

_But I need to say, I remember you standing outside the pub in the flood of the streetlight the night when I met you again. You looked so sad and angry, but Pansy, you were so beautiful. I couldn't help but come and steal your cigarette and needle at you about being a trainwreck. And I really did think you looked hot on that stupid cover of Witch Weekly, even if I didn't say so at the time._

_I could barely stay away from you. Something kept me from pressing you for more...I was so afraid of pushing you away, of pissing you off too much, afraid of you finding someone else to fuck around with. You're so brilliant, Pansy. So beautiful and honest and fun and the realest fucking woman I've ever known._

_You're the sharpest knife's edge and I've been bleeding far longer than I've realized that I've been cut._

_Do you remember the night you came over for me to scratch your itch? I almost told you I loved you that night. I will never forget what it was like to have you there in the firelight. It hurt so much for you to leave, to watch you go. I don't think you saw me watching you apparate home from the window when you left, but it broke my heart to watch you disappear from the steps outside._

_There are so many other nights etched in my memory, nights spent holding you and laughing with you and loving you._

_I remember the night I found you dancing topless at the bar, and I carried you home to your flat with your tits pressed into my back. I remember what it felt like to rescue you (if only a little), because you so rarely need it._

_I remember the night you handcuffed yourself to my bed before I ravished you. You challenge me in the best ways._

_I remember on the birthday when you were so drunk on wine and cheering charms you could barely stand it. I loved it most when they wore off and you were just yourself again. I remember how I told you how I loved being the reason you're not quiet. That's still true._

_I remember the night that mission went bad, when you teased me about my hair and washed me and held me while I shook. I never wanted to let you go, and the only place I wanted, needed to be that night was with you._

_I remember when you were sworn in to the Wizengamot. I shook your hand and told you how proud of you I was, and you didn't even look that panicked that we were touching in public, that someone would figure us out._

_I remember the night you finally yelled at me, and told me you couldn't fuck me anymore because of your feelings for me, and how I could finally tell you how I felt, that I needed you and wanted you and loved you, too. That you had somehow become the most important person in my life. That I had loved you for awhile. That you listened to me and believed me and had faith enough in us to try._

_I remember when you panicked when you realized I hadn't spent the night at Grimmauld Place in a month, and my clothes were all mixed up with yours, and said I was a fucking arsehole you never wanted to see again. (I TOLD you you didn't really mean it.)_

_I remember how you came with me on Halloween to visit my parents' graves, and you held my hand and hid your face in my shoulder when I told them I knew they'd be happy because I'd finally found what they'd had._

_I remember how your cheeks flushed when I looked at you as we stood up for Draco and Hermione, you on his side and me on hers, as they married each other. (Still too quickly to my mind, who gets married after three weeks? But I guess it's working for them, with the babies on the way and the ridiculous way they look at each other and everything.)_

_I will always, always remember how ethereal and lovely you looked the night I pushed into you and asked you to be my wife. I feel like I still have the claw marks and bruises and will always hear the shrill, "of course I will, you fucking arsehole, who couldn't even wait to finish fucking me to do it properly." And I will remember how you even loved the silly ring in the shape of a pansy I gave you first as a joke, how you insist even now on wearing both my rings. My Pansy, how I can't wait to give you the third._

_(Though I think the joke's on us both, with how many pansies your mother insisted on incorporating into this wedding. I also love how the only things you care about for the wedding are your dress, my "stupid" hair, and the vintage of champagne being served at the reception.)_

_There are so many more memories I can't wait to add to this list...when I see you walking towards me, in just a few moments from now. You're going to take my breath away, you always do._

_The moment when you realize, you really realize you're stuck with your fucking arsehole forever and the only thing you'll be able to do is kiss me and laugh about it (and fuck me for good measure)._

_All the moments when you wake up in the middle of the night, and I'll be right there beside you._

_The moment you have my baby, if you want to._

_The moment when you become Chief of the Wizengamot and kick everyone's arses._

_The moments when we're fighting and accidentally make each other laugh which inevitably will lead to fantastic sex._

_The moment when you'll finally approve of my hair (but will continue to tease me about it anyway)._

_And there's millions more, Pansy. Millions more moments I cannot wait to share with you, my beautiful, loving, perfect, brilliant love, and remember. I just needed to tell you._

_I love you, always._

_Harry_

* * *

Pansy pressed her hand to her mouth and choked back a sob. She hadn't expected to cry today. She fought to compose herself, tried to think of her makeup and the work it had taken to make it flawless.

Deep breath after deep breath, Pansy tried fruitlessly to settle herself. Bare feet paced on plush carpet past unworn heels, until her friends and mother returned, and she was surrounded by a chorus of "What's wrong?" and "You're not going to run away, are you?" and "Pansy, dear, you know how much work I've put into this wedding! I don't care what's wrong, you are still getting married today!"

She stepped towards the door and gripped the handle with her right hand, the letter still gripped in her left. "I'm going to run, all right," she said over her shoulder, as she threw the door open and took off down the hallway. She sprinted down the stairs, holding the fluttering skirt of her dress off the floor as she flew.

A few guests and several of Harry's attendants were gathering in the entryway of the manor, and Pansy raced past all of them, including a horrified looking, very pregnant Granger-Malfoy, out the doors and around toward the formal gardens. Daphne and Tracy and Millie struggled to keep up in their heels and trim sheaths appliquéd with thousands of delicately constructed fabric pansies. Pansy's mother had fallen behind.

Pansy's feet found the end of the dramatically long fabric aisle in the grass. She started shouting as she ran up the length. "Harry! Harry!" she yelled as she past the previously seated guests, who snapped to attention with the unexpected interruption to the prelude, played on magically charmed harps.

"Harry! Where the fucking hell are you?" she yelled, spinning in front of the flower and fabric-draped arbor to look for her groom. When her eyes caught him, approaching the ceremony site from the side, Pansy launched herself at him, knocking them both down onto the runner. Letter still in hand, she pulled Harry's head down to crush her lips to his and kissed him breathlessly with everything she had.

His momentary carefulness about her hair and her dress was lost as their kissed deepened, and he threaded his fingers into the dark waves of her hair and dug them into her back.

She finally pulled away to gasp for air. "You fucking arsehole," she panted. "How dare you send this to me?"

"I know I said you would take my breath away. I wasn't expecting to have you literally knock the air out of my lungs," Harry teased, before running his fingers through the loose tendrils of hair framing her face. "Like I wrote, I had some things I needed to say," he told her, punctuating his words with sweet kisses to her lips.

"You destroyed me, you arse," Pansy grinned down at him. "You made me cry. I don't think I can ever forgive you, making me cry on my wedding day."

"I love you," he affirmed, running his thumb across her bottom lip. Something flashed and they both turned their heads in the direction of it. Realizing what the flash signified, Harry sighed. "I'm starting to worry Witch Weekly is going to say that we ruined our own wedding, and isn't that fitting for the number one and number three biggest train wrecks of the post-war Wizarding world."

Pansy pulled Harry's lips back down to hers. "Fuck them," she said after their kiss ended. "I love you. Plus the entrance march is fucking tedious. Let's cut out the boring shite and get bonded, my love." She put her lips near his ear to whisper, "The sooner we do, the sooner we can sneak off from my mother's party to go find somewhere to fuck."

"Brilliant," Harry returned with a grin, and stood before helping draw Pansy to her feet. Hand in hand, they walked under the chandelier hanging from the arbor, whispering sweet and suggestive things to each other, watched in awe by all of their guests, and waited for the rest of their lives to begin.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing and favorite-ing and following. I love you all for it! Love and thanks especially go to Colubrina and disillusionist9, without whom I would not have been brave enough to start writing fic, let alone finish or post anything.

**Author's Note:**

> Endless thanks and love to disillusionist9 and Colubrina for humoring me and their support!


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